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{on the eve of solstice}

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December 19, 2025

11:52 am

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Musings on Extemporanea

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! Just a reminder: you’re invited to this year’s capstone challenge for the month of December! We’ll be in conversation with the theme of light, hope, and peace. No form requirements, and no length rules – just vibes, and a theme. Are you in? You’ll want to start early this month to craft your poetic creation(s), because we’ll share our offerings on December 26th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. Light and hope to you! We hope you’ll join us in closing out the year.

If one wants to be technically correct, we’re not quite to Solstice yet, that’s Sunday night, but I saw this Wendell Berry poem and couldn’t resist. I feel like the first line would make a beautiful peace piece of art in its own right, but the poem as a whole is just – mysterious and beautiful, just like a lovely, new moon night feels. Maybe it’s not always Sol Invictus. Maybe sometimes it’s Luna Invicta. Or, Nox Bonum. Maybe goodness and peace in darkness is something we can make work, too.

To Know the Dark

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.
-Wendell Berry, from Soul Food – Nourishing Poems for Starved Minds

{pf: poetry peeps eavesdrop & overhear}

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November 28, 2025

5:06 am

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Musings on Extemporanea

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to this year’s capstone challenge for the month of December! Here’s the scoop: We’ll be in conversation with the theme of light, hope, and peace. No form requirements, and no length rules – just vibes, and a theme. Are you in? You’ll want to start early this month to craft your creation(s), because we’ll share our offerings on December 26th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. Light and hope to you! We hope you’ll join us in closing out the year.

Friends, welcome to the week of gratitude – I hope you’re enjoying not just the food, but the chance to pause, think, read, and otherwise exist and make space for and process the events of a year rapidly receding into the rear view. There have been so many gut-wrenching challenges and losses this year, and for those struggling to finish strong, we see you; we see you, and we love you. ♥

As always, I look at our November challenge and think, “Right, we came up with an easy one for Thanksgiving week on purpose!” Aaaand, every year, I think, “Curses, foiled again.” Partially, this time was almost a fail because I suffer from a sort of internal insulation this time of year, as I walk around wearing hats over my hears, scarves that might touch my lobes and make movement… I don’t know, noisier or something… Coats and sweaters are noisy, okay? It’s harder to be nosy when you’re bundled up. And the nosiness is the point, here.

From Process…

Knowing that I was going into the city this past weekend, I tried to be conscious of …other people. One of the weird things about how people act in cities, even small cities like San Francisco, is the studied non-observance that we wield in order to allow ourselves privacy in public. Of course, here it only goes so far – friends from New York who have relocated here sometimes say they miss the ability to avoid interactions and ignore people. People on the West Coast will make eye contact and smile (frequently they’ll even greet you, which low-key alarms many, tee hee). Our weekend plans included a restaurant and a light show, so I figured sitting and eating or sitting in the audience before the show would be the best place to listen in. …Of course, that was before we realized that carpooling and not taking the train meant we’d get stuck behind an accident on the bridge, miss our reservation, circle all four parking garages in a two block area for thirty-five minutes, and have to park a half mile from our location. 😈 Which also meant we’d have to hurry up California Street to Mason before we could get to the venue… Oh, wait. Allow me to show you:

Image of The Fairmont Hotel courtesy of the National Register of Historical Places.
Note how precipitously the road drops away. Imagine me trying to look cute whilst climbing.

That part of California St. is about a 24.8% grade, so it’s not that steep, but we took it to avoid Leavenworth, which in parts has a 31.8% grade… Honestly, it all becomes relative with the panting and perspiring after a point. We all agreed to take the hill at our own paces. My pace required stopping halfway to look down and marvel. And then a speedwalking couple passed me and I heard this priceless conversation:

“Why are we going this way? Did you take me this way because you were cold?” The man, in tones of disbelief.

“I’m not cold anymore,” his partner sang out, stomping along in three-inch stilettos, clad in a strappy, slinky, slip-dress, arms and legs swinging bare in the cool November air…

I started upwards again grinning. That’s going to be how I choose my routes everywhere from now on – by vibes and core temperature. Let’s take this hill because I’m cold, dear. It’ll be fun, dear.

…To Poetry

In a more thoughtful moment, I wondered if I should take the whole “why did you bring me this way” as a message from the Universe that this moment required a more serious poem, but… nope. As I coughed for ten or twelve minutes at the top (bronchoconstriction in cold, dry air is a beast), we crossed the road, and climbed the stairs to the cathedral and joined the line. For distraction I made up a quickie haiku:

We arrive, aglow,
flushed with triumph, all bearing
air-kisses from the Bay

I realized later that poem doesn’t exactly count, since it doesn’t use the actual quotation – and it also doesn’t hold to our annual theme of “conversation” since I skipped the whole exchange. So – I came back with a triolet, which is a form that is delightful for a short poem built on a brief conversation. Also enjoy the images of California as looking down from the Fairmont (these are images taken from famous SF posters).

Running Late on California Street
Why, when there are other paths,
Why are we going this way?
(*wheeze* – Asthmatic aftermath)
What, were there no other paths?
Scowl forms as I do the math:
Be late? Or in disarray?
When there are no other paths,
Where are we going? This way.

My health nonsense has crept up on me to the point that I hadn’t realized how much I don’t go anywhere anymore, so this whole evening – traffic, missed dinner, weird parking and all – was a gift, and the poem embellishes the memory.

The rest of the Poetry Peeps are assembling! Laura’s poem is here. Mary Lee’s poem is here. Susan Thomsen was ready for this challenge in her honor – and her poem is here. Michelle K’s poem is here, and Jone’s poem is here. More Peeps will doubtless drop by as soon as the food coma wears off, so don’t forget to drop by later in the weekend for the rest of the roundup. Meanwhile, Buffy Silverman is our Poetry Friday hostess this week – thank you, Buffy for introducing your cousin! – so don’t forget to pop by and treat yourself to even more poetry.

Plenty of time this past year I’ve asked myself, “Why this way? Why couldn’t some other plan have worked out?” And honestly, many of us have felt perhaps pushed into narrow paths we could have gleefully done without. Here’s to making the best of the walkway we’re on – whether slogging through sloughs or inching up inclines, keep marching, friends. Progress is possible – if we keep it moving.

Walk on with hope in your heart – you are so well-loved.

Happy🍁Weekend.

{poetry friday poem: after Donika Kelly}

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November 14, 2025

12:52 pm

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Mental Health, Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday, Random Notes and Errata

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! Just a reminder that our challenge for the month of November is composing ‘Eavesdropped & Overheard’ poems in tribute to our pal at the long-running Chicken Spaghetti blog, Susan Thomsen. I look forward to your post or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals on NOVEMBER 28th!

And speaking of Susan, today’s poetry prompt comes her, and a poem she shared a couple of weeks back, Donika Kelly’s Poem To Remind Myself of the Natural Order of Things. In it, the poet hearkens back to that thicc and wondrous baby hippo captured our hearts during lockdown, then turns her attention back to her own heart.

From Process…

Now, I wasn’t going to do this challenge. I am truly bad with memes — some of what other people find funny or cute comes off as either sad, weird, or mean to me, and hello, welcome to my sideways brain, I guess. But then, I read Susan’s poem, and all the poems of the others taking part in the challenge, and they were so good that I thought of one meme that hasn’t left me alone.

Yeah, so – remember the viral ‘Paws-In Test’ from about six months back? I …disliked that so much (once again: weird brain. NO SHADE whatsoever if you thought it was cute. It a fundamental way, it is cute, because: dogs). The ‘test’ was owners putting their hands in a stack and silently requesting their dog to take part in their weird human activity. And some of the dogs, you could see the gears turning as they looked from one of their human pack to the next, trying to figure out what the ask was… trying to make sure that they were doing whatever was being asked of them “right.” And egads, that seemed way too much like the social tests of life for me, and all of my oh, noooo anxiety kicked in, just looking at those sweet liquid eyes, staring at the humans being …baffling, and waiting for…something… ❗

…To Poetry

However, the point of the whole exercise is to find more in the ephemeral memes and ‘moments’ observed in the social media stratosphere, and I love that Donika begins with the word “observe” and leans in with just that – forcing us to look back and remember the delightful chonk that is Fiona, and how the posts from the zoo lightened up our hearts in a heavy time. Hadn’t love, the poet seems to realize, once done the same for her? And thus, I found my way into writing …some kind of poem. For once, it helped that I did this last minute, so forced myself to truly lean in to the mentor text: no rhyme, no wordplay, just… thoughts. (Or, vibes, no? I mean, if we’re talking memes, we are fully USING the lingo.)

“A Poem to Reminds Myself of the Inutility of External Validation”

After Donika Kelly

Observe them, seated,
facing, arms extended,
hands stacked, awaiting:

Head tilts, calculation
a silent klaxon blaring
whatnow/whatway/what’sright
as longing takes a gamble
lifts paw: a closed circuit,
validation lights up faces.

Sweet puppies, always,
forever, the goodest good dogs.

But you –
Down, Girl. Find it!
Sniff out your OWN path.

tanita s. davis draft, 2025

It’s Carol who is hosting the Poetry Friday roundup today, so pop by for an apple from her orchard. Remember – there is no ‘right’ way to act. There is no ‘correct’ response. There is only you, and yours, and the choices you make to fulfill your needs. And, you. are. enough. of a majority to rule. Now, off to find your own way, you good being.

Happy Friday.


{pf: poetry peeps burn down a haibun}

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October 31, 2025

1:00 am

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General Coolness, Musings on Extemporanea, Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday, Seven Sisters

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of November! Here’s the scoop: We’re composing ‘Eavesdropped & Overheard’ poems, in tribute to our friend of the long-running Chicken Spaghetti blog, Susan Thomsen. Much has changed since last we accepted this challenge in 2022 – including the number of newspapers with accessible, paywall-free ‘Overheard’ articles. Never fear, however – here’s useful scuttlebutt from DC to points West, and from areas all over if you’re not as much of a in-real-life stickybeak as the rest of us. Are you in? You’ll have a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering on NOVEMBER 28th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. Join the fun!

We did it! The Poetry Sisters managed to all show up at a pre-write meet-up! It had NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with how impossible the prompt felt this month! Nothing at all! We just missed each other!! And needed to vent about prose poems! And stuff!

Okay, so we had a brief moment of “WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS!?” and we couldn’t recall, since prompts for the year are thought up in one fell swoop, each of us nursing our potion of choice, and who even knows what we were thinking (or drinking) in January. So… here we begin with a haibun, which in itself feels challenging as they are chiefly autobiographical ‘prose poems’ with subtracted lines. We add poet Torrin A. Greathouse’s transitional step of an additional erasure poem with an added element of flame creating a ‘burning’ haibun, which then collapses into the traditional haibun concluding haiku (perhaps reflecting how, like cinders, the original poem crumbles in on itself?), and…our annual theme of ‘poems in conversation.’ Hmmm…🤔😶

From Process…

As we talked about where each of us felt we could take the poem, I had basically bupkis, until I thought about burning in the most literal, elemental way. California has had it with fire – burn scars, burn years, and burn names. The first autumn after the Tubbs fire, I hyperventilated when smelling woodsmoke from someone’s fireplace. When it has destroyed so much of what you love – the Caldor fire took out part of the thousand acre summer camp where I worked from age 16-21 and took the first steps towards adulthood – it leaves scars. I don’t think I’ll be able to happily sit around a crackling campfire ever again.

Despite the need for this to come from an autobiographical space, I felt like I needed boundaries on all of these pesky feelings, however. Historically, we all know how I feel about unrhymed and unruled poetry prompts 😖 – they become unhinged and unruly in my hands. Because I need boundaries, I had to define a prose poem first. From my extensive reading, I concluded that it is prose that utilizes the elements of poetry – notably alliteration, repetition, rhyme, literary devices, and figurative language. Except for the line breaks and traditional shaping of poetry, it’s a poem. So. I tried to toe the line between the two.

…To Poetry

Summer’s heat, it singes – and sometimes smokes. That first frosty day of fall startles, sharp with shivers and then a stench scenting of lives imploding, futures ending, and pasts unraveled to loss. Smoke lingers in its echoes – of Tubbs, named Fire Most Destructive until Campfire came along, destroying Paradise, and thieving the title. And on it glitters and razes and crackles and roars – the Mendocino, Dixie, Creek, Caldor – each demolition a diminishment, a detraction, a destruction of the northernmost luster of the shine so many take to my home state, O Golden State, O, sweet home – burnt bitter in the smoke of a thousand blazes. At the dawn of time the light of flame meant safety and home, a warning to predators, a cookfire bringing simple warmth and security. That was a human story we once knew, now the pall of smoke that first cold dusk raises a blister of woe, whispers of panicked flight and cindered ends, of crumbling foundations and never agains.

And now, we begin the burning. The second phase of the burning haibun is meant to represent a state wholly different from the first, so I went from heat to cold:

It singes – that first frosty day of fall,
Sharp with shivers, scenting futures and pasts.
Smoke lingers, destructive paradise, and it glitters –
A diminishment, a detraction, a destruction of the shine so golden –
O, sweet smoke of a thousand dawn predators,
Bringing a story that whispers
of flight.

I like how …ominous that one sounds. I tried to bring that sense of menacing portent to the haiku. (I also tried hard not to use the traditional 5-7-5 syllabic form, because Japanese haiku actually doesn’t do so slavishly, and I need to get out of the elementary school version of haiku someday.)

heat singes, smoke startles,
lingers, burnt bitter
warning of crumbling

I wasn’t entirely satisfied with this — though I think it fulfilled the requirement. But, I wanted to write a burn-book burning haibun. Why not use Shakespearean insults? (“Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage.” As You Like It [Act 2, Scene 7]; “Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat.” Henry V [Act 4, Scene 4] 🐐, or what has to be one of my all-time favorites “Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!” King Lear [Act 2, Scene 2]. Imagine being insulted as the “unnecessary” letter z!🤣) Or can you imagine a poetic “yo mama” battle? There were so many ways to ‘burn’ with this, once I was able to let go of being literal… I’ll have come back to those another day. Meanwhile, others have emerged victorious from the burning! Tricia’s poem is here. Sara’s poem is here. Laura’s poem is here. Mary Lee’s poem is here, and Liz’s poem is here. Michelle K went the second mile with two haibun, while Karen rose to beautifully meet the challenge here. Carol’s poem transformation is here. More Poetry Peeps may check in throughout the weekend, so check back later for the full roundup. And if this challenge wrecked you, no worries! We’ll catch up with you next time.

Poetry Friday today is hosted today by the autumn-appropriate Jone Rush MacCulloch, whose Halloween-esque haiku and full-moon artwork I’m enjoying on the calendar she gave me. Thanks doubly, Jone. Though sometimes it feels like the world is on fire, our present suffering is no more than others have faced in other nations at other times, and it, too, shall pass. I remind myself as well as anyone else who needs to hear it: trouble is neither as special nor as unique as we might think – which means we are not alone in it, especially if we look up and reach out to those around us who are very likely feeling some kind of way, too. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum – in hoc una sumus. Remember, at this and every other time, you are so well-loved.

{the poetry peeps test tritinas}

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September 25, 2025

11:56 pm

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Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday, Seven Sisters

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of October! Here’s the scoop: As invited by Poetry Magazine, we’re composing burning haibun. Not regular old haibun, folks. These highlight the internal landscape of memory, and within them, something somewhere must BURN. Perhaps it’s your candle at both ends. The stub of wax in your jack-o-lantern. Perhaps it’s just your heartburn, or your indignation. We cannot wait to find out. As always, these poems will continue our theme of writing in conversation. Are you still in? You’ll have a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering on OCTOBER 31st in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. THIS is gonna be LIT (see what I did there?), so we hope you’ll join the fun!

Greetings, friends, and a glorious decorative gourd season to all. I have a bale of hay in the garage, and feel I am getting right into the spirit of things (technically, the bale of hay is for the Boy’s archery targets, and then the garden, but I can pretend it’s for autumn, yes? Yes).

Science – and my very own science experiment autoimmune disorder – has recently introduced me to the joys of descriptive disorder names. Had you ever heard of Multiple Evanescent White Dot Syndrome? Well, neither had I – but what a delightfully graphical designation. Joining such monikers as Alien Hand and Restless Leg syndromes, MEWDS rather less delightfully is an inflammation of the optic nerve and can temporarily occlude one’s sight in the eye affected. That is far less than fun, but *hand waves* details, right? At least it has a fun name.

It you may have guessed, it’s been A Month around here. And if you’ve also guessed that I have yet again missed the Poetry Sisters meet-up to discuss and strategize our monthly form experiment, you’d be right. Which was disappointing. I wanted to talk about this form. The tritina has such potential. I love Tamar Yoseloff’s description of it as the sestina’s square root, and an “instrument of discovery.” The repetition is intended to pull something out of the poet, to hold it up, and allow examination from all sides.

From Process…

I was aware that the villanelle and the sestina, the more familiar repetitious poetry forms, were written to be accompanied by music – thus the repeating refrains. I don’t think I really leaned in to the musical aspect of this as much as I wanted to – let’s blame my foggy brain, shall we? – but I had a song stuck in my head when I wrote it. Billy Joel’s 1989 classic, And So It Goes. To put me in the correct frame of mind (and because I can’t listen to actual music when I work), I read the lyrics before I began.

It’s such a… resigned song. It offers the listener an unvarnished self, all poor decisions and untethered past presented with open hands. Here I am, the song seems to say. “All this could be yours – bad gambles and all. I find it rather charming, if a little sad. Written by a man who stumbled from three marriages into his current fourth, his experiences haven’t seemed to leave him confident that this whole self will be accepted, though offered whole-heart. And… so it goes. Asi es la vida. That’s life.

I brainstormed longhand to arrive at a trio of words which sturdy enough to bear repetition. Originally I believe the Poetry Sisters had thought to use all the same word, but I don’t know if that thought fell apart or not. My words I drew from what was on my mind – what I was feeling about the news, my medical life, my work. The words were… grey-shaded. Exhaustion. Weariness. Depletion. Betrayal. Grief. Carrying. Forfeit. Weight. What on earth could anyone try and ‘discover’ from that?

…To Poetry

Those words felt… disagreeable but when I pulled a few I wanted out of the morass, ‘Undone’ and ‘Diminished’ spoke to me… Remember I said that villanelle and sestina were originally composed for music? These two words are musical. There’s a thing called a “diminished chord.” It’s described as sounding tense, unstable, and dissonant, often “spooky,” “sinister,” or “eerie.” What if instead of simply disagreeable and bad, something undone is diminished because it’s unresolved? So… here’s my beginning at playing with that thought. Note that this is the DRAFTIEST of drafts – I feel like “in conversation” vanished from this entirely – yet I like the feel and the wordplay of it, trying to wrest music from madness, and a note of triumph from an unfinished chord of defeat.

it weighs on me: what lies undone
in creased and wrinkled brain diminished?
No laurels wreath the unresolved.

Opaqued, the path lies unresolved.
Roads untaken drift, and, undone
shrink; a destiny diminished.

Atlases: obscured. Undiminished:
thirst for adventure. Re-resolved:
To leap. Not done can’t be undone.

Past comes undone: presently diminished lies our future, unresolved…
And so it goes.

This felt like it ought to have the title at the end, to add weight to the envoi. All of the uncertainty and ambiguity, holding up an idea, twisting and turning it, examining it in the light. Despite the desire for different, in some parts of our lives, we’ve lost our maps, we’re drifting, and we’re looking ahead at a future that seems… diminished. Distorted. But if we want a different present, we’ll have to tell ourselves a new story, to enact a future that is different from our past.

And so it goes. That’s just life.

Part of “just life” is also having a poem you’re not sure you like, which seems to be afflicting all of the Poetry Sisters this month. Nevertheless, Tricia’s take on the tritana can be found here. Cousin Mary Lee’s poem is here. Liz’s poem is here, and Laura’s tritina is hitting next month’s theme early here. Karen’s poem is here, and Michelle K’s art and tritina are here. Carol V’s poem is here. More Poetry Peeps may post throughout the day, so make sure you circle back at some point this weekend and find the links here.

Poetry Friday today is hosted at the delightful Poem Farm of Amy Ludwig VanDerwater. Thanks, Amy. It’s been a long, strange trip this month, but as always, there’s life on the other side of your screen. Please go outside. Don’t forget to appreciate the things that you have – beauty and peace, the signs of the changing season, favorite foods, decorative gourds. Touch grass. Hydrate. Reach out to friends. And remember, you are well-loved.

{this wasn’t on my September bingo card, but I’ll take it}

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September 4, 2025

11:30 am

4 Comments on {this wasn’t on my September bingo card, but I’ll take it}

Book News, Musings on Extemporanea


Sometimes, the ways in which we are really, really fortunate are breath-taking. I was blessed to have a second chance at publishing when Katherine Tegen took an interest in my work. I’ve been privileged to work with really wonderful editors, copyeditors, and designers at Harper-Collins. Brittany Jackson’s art is a-mazing, and I am blessed to have FOUR of my books sporting covers of hers. Berry’s tangerine (and slightly rage-fueled) energy in this illustration even caught Booklist’s eye. Drinking deep of the last dregs of summer, I am happily readying for the brilliant, sizzling colors of decorative gourd season, looking forward to my book’s release in a couple more weeks, and gratefully counting my blessings.

{pf: poetry peeps are pen-pals with poetry}

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August 28, 2025

11:04 pm

8 Comments on {pf: poetry peeps are pen-pals with poetry}

Musings on Extemporanea, Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday, Seven Sisters

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of September! Here’s the scoop: We’re going to take up the challenge of tritina. Invented by poet Marie Ponsot, this less restrictive younger sibling of the sestina uses three repeated words to end three tercets. The order of word-endings for the tercets are 123, 312, 231, with a final line acting as the envoi, featuring all three words in the 1-2-3 order used in the first stanza. Additionally, we’ll continuing with our theme of poetry in conversation, in whatever way that is individually defined. Sound a little tricky? Maybe? Are you still in? You’ll have a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering on September 26th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. We hope all of you will join the fun!

It hardly seems possible that the harvest season is here and that summer is slouching towards completion. The choral season has kicked off, and we were greeted the first night of rehearsal with bushels of cherry tomatoes from someone’s out-of-control indeterminate plant. From our own wildly out of control mini-orchard, we have picked two tree’s worth of pears, and three tree’s worth of apples, most of the mulberries and we’re just getting started on the table grapes that are turning a deep purple. We’re feeling particularly grateful to family and friends and have not yet stooped to midnight produce deliveries to strangers… but we’re getting close. (THIS is why we don’t grow zucchini anymore…) I feel my Depression-Era grandma’s memory peering over my shoulder as I chop out the wormy bits and bag apples for the freezer. (Ninety-six cups and counting. 🫣) To be honest, I am grateful for both the bounty and for the distraction – it widens my focus from the continuing heaviness of grief in the world, and helps me gain a little bit of perspective. Seedtime and harvest persists, in spite of the destruction of so many other reliable cycles.

From Process…

Processes continuing was on my mind this month. Having missed yet another gathering of the Poetry Princesses, I was determined to make up for the loss of writing in community by really leaning in to the poet herself. I read a few Giovanni poems before circling back to this one, more to hear her voice than anything else. Then, I listened to the poet read this poem aloud – from a video of the first season of HBO’s Def Comedy Jam from 2001.

Writing in conversation with a narrative poem is tricky. I found I wanted to imitate the poem more have a discussion with it, or with the poet. After reading the questions in the poem, I realized that Giovanni’s interrogation asked questions only human beings could answer. In essence, where are we taking poetry? Where has it been seen? Is it lost, and useless, as many people suspect (I admit to still being annoyed that the NPR Books newsletter a few weeks ago asked, “Whatever happened to poetry?” with apparently no irony intended)? Have we forgotten what gifts the arts have given us which have carried us through to this current moment? Was what carried us poetry? Does it have a place, in this blues-making world? What will allow poetry, stories, art in general – emotion expressed in imagery, allegory, rhyme, or meter – to persist?

…To Poetry

I’m not generally a person who likes to write poems about poetry, but that seemed to be the assignment. Though there are many other things Giovanni could be talking about or addressing her words to, I chose to take her words literally and look at poetry across the table. I dislike talking about poetry in general because I try to avoid making direct and sweeping statements about arts. I have Opinions – so many – about what I like in poetry, what I think is overdone, and what is definitively not to my taste, nor ever will be. Nikki Giovanni seems to have had opinions throughout her career, too – but here, she works to subvert both readers’ expectations and possibly her own by writing to poetry as if it is both audience and speaker, confessor and consort, both the discarded art and the callous deserter. I attempted to mimic the poet’s confiding tone and close, fron-porch-conversational vibe:

Sing With Me, Poem

After Nikki Giovanni’s “Talk to Me, Poem. I Think I Got the Blues.”

Sing with me, Poem.
A solo just now
feels like spotlight
and stage fright.

Have you crooned loss and lament, Poem?
A lot of poems serenade on setbacks,
hum the hundred thousand hymns
of ‘alone’ and being left,
of the broken and bereft.

Hear how melody marks your trail –
constructing cairns rife with rhythm.
Stanza beckons scansion,
Employing unexpected enjambment, as
Pas-de-deux, couplets kiss,
Alliterating the way to bliss.

I know: blank verse is more respected.
Too much rhyme’s mostly rejected
(Think Dickinson and “Yellow Rose -”
Some only stan a poet who loves prose.)
But… who sings the tune without a beat?
Meter sans rhyme seems incomplete.

So, what’s next for you, Poem?
You’ve done American idyll,
Been burnished on plinths,
brayed from pulpits, and
laureled by laureates. Even my socials
Sing your songs on Instagrammed posts
passed along.

…can we sing with you, Poem?
Even if we don’t have the words?
What makes a song enough to be heard?

Despite what all else Giovanni’s poem asks, I find the real question is, what will make poetry persist? I think the answer is… WE WILL. And we’re already doing it, right here in this community. Liz’s persistence is here. Tricia’s poem is here, and Michelle poem is here. More Poetry Peeps might swing by with their creative conversations with Nikki Giovanni’s poem, and I’ll round ’em up here by the end of the weekend. Meanwhile, coffee aficionado and all-round lovely person Karen Edmisten – sharing her own delightful poetic conversation – is our Poetry Friday hostess today. “>Thanks, Karen!

There’s a lot of moving parts in this world, and a lot of feelings and thoughts about that to process. As long as there’s emotion in need of expression, there will be poetry. As long as there are people, there will be emotions, and words. As long as there are circumstances which delight, confuse, infuriate, grieve, and annoy us (with things like too many apples), there will be a poem to illuminate, celebrate, or merely to elucidate. In the meantime, don’t forget to wash your hands – the creeping crud is surging yet again. Hydrate. Dress your bed with gorgeous sheets. Call your youngest family member and horrify them with your use of ‘stan.’ Live a little. Love a lot. And remember, your current circumstances won’t last forever. In this and every moment, you are well-loved.

{pf: poetry peeps are desperately seeking sedokas}

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July 25, 2025

1:00 pm

8 Comments on {pf: poetry peeps are desperately seeking sedokas}

Musings on Extemporanea, Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday, Seven Sisters

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! You’re invited to our challenge for the month of August! Here’s the scoop: If poetry is a love letter to readers, this month, we’re writing back. Using Nikki Giovanni’s “Talk to Me, Poem, I Think I Got The Blues” as a mentor verse, we’re writing poetry directly in conversation with a poem. Whether you talk back directly to Ms. Giovanni’s work, or choose another poems to pass notes to is up to you, as is length and form. Are you in? You’ll have a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering on August 29th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. We hope all of you will join the fun!

That screech you just heard is your girl sliding in to Poetry Fridayland just under the wire. I’m grateful it’s Friday, but I much prefer to have time to write a poem and ponder over it. It’s a Poetry On The Fly type of day, following a week of life-on-the-fly which included missing the Poetry Sisters meet-up, so please to bear with my scattered and mildly inarticulate writing-the-poem-right-now thing. Ah, well – the point is the exercise, no?

From Process…

In “Asphodel, That Greeny Flower” William Carlos Williams, after many meandering lines, finally takes one of his more wonderful poetic turns when he says, “It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack / of what is found there.” The lack of “what is found there” is a breadth of unnameable, unknowable things, different for each person, but one specific thing that I know that people are dying from is from lacking understanding of how much the same we are. When we read poetry, we know that your experience and mine, though lived in different nations, under different stars, is the common stuff of humanity. (If politicians knew that and believed, surely they could legislate with mercy and justice, no?)

The Poetry Sisters’ “In Conversation” theme fits particularly well with the idea of shared human experiences communicated through poetry. I decided today’s Poetry Friday exercise would be to look very literally at the idea of it being difficult to get “the news” from poetry by looking at poetry through the lens of the news of the day. I tried to be very specific – the news needed to be from THE DAY – which for me meant the last twenty-four hours. There was quite a bit of local news that tempted me, but I chose a national story, one that is our latest national shame.

By now you’ll have heard of the latest executive order.

As a child, one of the next door neighbors worked with patient programs at a mental hospital. Petra didn’t talk about it much, until the state funding for the programs were cut under the 40th president when I was about nine or ten, and then we ALL heard about it. She was furious – and afraid of what would happen to the many, many people in need of care. That was my first experience of understanding that not every political decision was unanimous. Through her vociferous complaints I learned that there was no assumption of agreement just because everyone was an American.

…To Poetry

Myriad people have myriad responses to the decisions made on behalf of Americans today. I put my responses in the form of sedokas, unrhymed poems made up of two three-line stanzas called katauta, because sedoka are comprised of a pair of katauta and each one may address the same subject from a different perspective. One of the most valuable things we can do is to see the news from multiple directions. This isn’t just an exercise in argument – the devil needs no advocates – but an extension of the idea of the commonality of experience. I used direct quotes from organizations and people quoted in news stories as the titles for these sedokas, and as a sort of date stamp of a particular bit of news from a particular point in time. I think this might actually be a difficult but satisfying National Poetry Month exercise – opening the paper (physical or digital), grabbing a headline or quotation, and writing sedoka that strive to experience the news from varying but complementary perspectives. Here are today’s efforts:

According to research from Charles Schwaub, 59% of
Americans are one paycheck from homelessness

I.

With walls closing in
exit raised hands and voices
this home is not a castle.

Flirt with disaster,
We sixty percent tease it
one wink away from homeless.

The UCSF Benioff Homeless and Housing Initiative reported in the LA Times that “contrary to common perception, only about 37% of homeless people were using illicit drugs regularly, and 25% said they had never used drugs. But drug use is far more prevalent among homeless people than in the general population. Just over 65% reported having regularly used at some point in their lives, and 27% had started after becoming homeless.”

II.
does it quiet them,
silence blame and confusion?
soften the teeth of the trap?

slumped on the sidewalk
we creep past with hesitance
perspective renders us mute.

“The National Homelessness Law Center strongly condemns today’s executive order, which deprives people of their basic rights and makes it harder to solve homelessness. …This order does nothing to lower the cost of housing or help people make ends meet. The safest communities are those with the most housing and resources, not those that make it a crime to be poor or sick. Forced treatment is unethical, ineffective, and illegal.” (WASHINGTON, D.C – July 24th, 2025)

III.
We teach kids consent,
to ask, to wait. Not assume
my way is the only way.

I do not consent
to terminating consent
To chaining our civil rights.

I’m eager to see what my participating Poetry Sisters and everyone else came up with this month. Tricia’s post is here. Mary Lee’s book review plus poem is right here. Michelle’s sedoka is here. Diane’s sun-positive sedoka is here. More Poetry Peeps might swing by with their sedoka and I’ll round ’em up here by the end of the weekend. Meanwhile, Marci is our Poetry Friday hostess today, and is probably far more organized than anyone around here, even with just getting back from a fabulous-looking writing retreat. Thanks, Marci!

There’s a lot more news to consider, but there’s also a time to close the paper, and go outside. Don’t forget to appreciate the things that you are fighting to preserve. Touch grass. Hydrate. Reach out to friends. And remember, you are loved.

{pf: paddling towards lagniappe}

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July 11, 2025

11:18 am

16 Comments on {pf: paddling towards lagniappe}

Part and Poetry, Poetry Friday

Welcome to Poetry Friday!

Poetry Peeps! Just a reminder that our challenge for the month of July is… the Sedoka. You’ll have a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering on July 25th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals. We hope all of you will join the fun!

Far back in the hoary blogging history of 2007, good friend and professor of Russian linguistics and literature at Grinnell College, Dr. Kelly Herold started Poetry Friday because she felt like there needed to be more poetry – studied, written, critiqued, appreciated – in schools, for children, for teens, and for adults in a way that it wasn’t at that time. Way back then, Kel did the heavy lifting of urging bloggers and teachers to get on board with this whole thing. Through the years, others have taken it in their turn to keep the party going – from librarians and teachers in public schools to bloggers who keep us scheduled and hosting, like Cousin Mary Lee, to Poetry Sisters and Inklings who challenge and include myriad Poetry Peeps. More recently, multiple anthology projects – thank-you, Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong – poetry forms – thanks for all the fibs, Greg Pincus and many others – regular Poetry Swaps – thank you Laura Shovan and Tabatha Yeatts-Lonske – a National Poetry Month Progressive Poem – thank you, Irene Latham (Edit: and thank you, Heidi Mordhorst, for reminding me of that one) – even recipes (!) and Clunker Exchanges – thank you, Linda Mitchell! – have flowered from this fruitful seed. And despite being an irregular regular of Poetry Friday, I just continue to benefit.

My latest benefit is a Krebs Whirly. A Krebs Whirly is a wind toy handmade by one Denise Krebs, and the enclosed photograph which accompanied the poem she sent showed it hanging first in her backyard in the SoCal desert. It made me feel connected upstream in this long forty-ninth State to another poet as this morning I hung it at my backyard in NorCal. Denise’s acrostic on the word ‘community’ was written in response to my 4th of July raccontino. I am especially touched by the lines

…Nod to a new point in America, for
In truth, cruelty will not be the point —
Treasuring a thriving community is.

This thriving community is a treasure – a lagniappe, to use the Cajun French word from my mother’s side of the family. It takes effort to grow a community like this – and gratitude. Join me in saying thanks, won’t you?

There’s A Lot Going On Under the Surface

Since no one sees how
furiously the swan, on lake of glass
with wildly thrashing webby feet can
river journeys pass
in seeming staid serenity — While, I –
no swan, alas —
must “sweat and labor” as they say
like humans of my class…
With wry regard, and polite thanks
I cede to swans a win. I’ll never have the brass
Or sass to fake like that, my friends!
♦
The quiet work that goes unseen, unsung in many ways
Is mortar that enables brick to last, and worth our praise.

It’s Tabatha who is hosting the Poetry Friday roundup today at The Opposite of Indifference. Remember – though the machinery that underpins the things we love might not be glamorous, it’s worth appreciating. Thanks for everything, friends.